


Not Tonight, Honey

by Slaymesoftly



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-23
Updated: 2010-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaymesoftly/pseuds/Slaymesoftly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike wants to celebrate the anniversary of his first fight with  Buffy, but she doesn't feel like participating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Tonight, Honey

_**Last prompt!!!!**_  
Whew! This is my very last Schmoop Bingo prompt ficlet. I have the Wild Card spot fic pretty close to completed, and then it's going to be all about getting the urls properly inserted on the card and posting it here and to the community. I've made it through the whole thing using only one pairing and some minor friendship stuff that is Spuffy by implication. *is feeling like something hot on a stick*

Really pushing it on this one, but I wanted schmoop that would be different from the usual anniversary kind of stuff; so I picked an unusual anniversary. And the schmoop comes more from Spike and Joyce than it does from Spike and Buffy, but they're here, and they yell at each other, so that counts as Spuffy, right? TBC in my wild card fic.

Title: Not Tonight, Honey  
Prompt: Anniversary, one partner sick  
Medium: fic  
Summary: Spike wants to celebrate the anniversary of his first fight with Buffy, but she doesn't feel like participating.

 **Not Tonight, Honey**

  
"Come on out and fight, Shlayer! You know you want to!"

Buffy opened one bleary eye and stared at her open window. The familiar voice floated up from the front yard, the words slurred, but understandable.

"Please tell me I'm hallucinating," she said, turning to look at her mother.

"I'm sorry, honey. He's really there. And really drunk. I guess Drusilla sent him away again."

"Well, tell him to get lost. I'm too sick to fight him tonight. Tell him to come back tomorrow and I'll happily turn him to dust if that's what he wants." Buffy rolled over and put the pillow over her head.

Joyce brushed her hand over Buffy's shoulder and said, "I'll try."

She walked downstairs and opened the front door.

"Spike, could you keep it down, please? Buffy's trying to sleep."

"Shleep? She can't shleep. It's our annivershery." His indignation would have been funnier if he hadn't been in game face the whole time.

"Your _what?"_

"Annivershery. You know, when I messhed up all her doilies and what not? When you hit me with the axe?" He looked disappointed as he faded back into his human mien and pouted at Joyce.

"You mean Back to School Night? When she was in high school?"

"Eggshatly! Big school thing, little bitty pretty schlayer, big fight. Firsht time she ever hit me. Firsht time I hit her. It's our annivershery." He nodded solemly, then sat down with his back against the tree. "I want to shelebrate."

Joyce shook her head and sat down on the porch step.

"I really don't think the first time you tried to kill her is something Buffy really wants to celebrate, Spike. Especially not tonight."

"But I didn't kill her!" he said, raising confused eyes. "You shtopped me. That never happened before. Shlayer's mum getting into the fight. Why'd you do that?"

"She's my daughter, Spike. And you were trying to kill her. What did you expect me to do?"

He blinked owlishly. "Dunno. Scream? Cry?"

Joyce fixed him with a hard stare that was enough like Buffy's pre-slay glare to cause him to shrink back against the tree trunk. "That's never going to happen, Spike. Not when you're trying to hurt my child."

He nodded, his head dropping onto his chest briefly. When he lifted it, he seemed more sober. "And that's why she's so good at her job," he said, a small smile twitching his lips. "She's got a bloody brave mum." He stood up and staggered, putting one hand on the tree to steady himself. He pointed to Buffy's window.

"Why won't she come out to play? An' why is she here and not where she's s'posed to be?"

Buffy's head came out the window and she glared down at him. "Because I'm sick, you dumb ass. And I hate my roommate, so I came home for some peace and quiet. So I could sleep. And get better. And be ready to slay vampires tomorrow. Come back then!" She slammed the window down and disappeared from sight.

"I think she's mad at me." Spike sounded almost offended and Joyce had to hide a smile.

"Kinda sounds like it," she said, suggesting gently, "Maybe you should go somewhere to sleep it off and 'celebrate' your anniversary when you're both feeling better?"

"Maybe." He sounded dubious. "But it might not be our anniversary then."

"Well, I'd be surprised if Buffy remembers exactly what the date was of that particular Back to School Night, so I think you could put it off for a day or so. Anyway, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?"

He shrugged and pulled a bottle from his pocket, upending it into his mouth, then staring at it in disappointment. With a muffled curse, he raised his arm and threw it on the grassy lawn where it bounced and landed closer to where Joyce was sitting. He glanced at her face, then walked over to retrieve his bottle with a muttered, "Sorry, Slayer's mum."

Joyce held out her hand. "Let me have it. I'll put it in the recycling bin for you."

Rolling his eyes, whether at himself or her, he wasn't sure, he dropped the empty bottle in her hand and stood in front of her, head cocked to one side.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice rather than the usual querulous tone he used when he was feeling disrespected.

She raised the water pistol she'd been holding in her lap and smiled at him. "Because you're a gentleman... and I'm armed."

He stared at her incredulously, then broke into a hearty laugh. "I like you, Joyce Summers," he said. "You are one hell of a woman. Just like your daughter. Tell her I'll see her in a couple of days, yeah?" With a small wave, he turned and walked away, only the occasional list to one side indicating that he was still drunk.

The End


End file.
